Whiskey Lullaby
by elmonkito397
Summary: Clary said goodbye long ago, but Jace just isn't ready to let go. Can he get over her and find someone else, or will the pain be too much? Clace songfic, two-shot! Rated T for extreme sadness and depressing themes.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N): Hey guys! So lately I've been obsessed over the song Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley, and I thought I'd do a little Clace songfic about it. Beware! This is very depressing. I cried while I was writing it :P**

**So if you do read it, let me know what you think! I've written a part two about Clary for the second half of the song, but I'm not going to release it unless you guys like this part. **

**So if you like what you see here, review and I'll put out the second part!  
**

_She put him out _

_Like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette_

_She broke his heart, _

_He spent his whole life tryin' to forget_

_We watched him drink his pain away _

_A little at a time_

_But he never could get drunk enough _

_To get her off his mind_

_Until the night_

Jace sat on his battered couch, holding his head in his hands. Beside him was a photograph of himself and Clary under a tree. The picture was resting alongside an empty bottle of whiskey. There were several others like it scattered around the living room, one occasionally spilling out its minimal contents onto the rug to leave a pale brown stain. The golden haired boy's hands were shaking against his face. The skin of his cheeks was stained with tears. _The boy never cried again…_ It was the first time he had really felt broken since that moment in his childhood. There were few things he truly loved in the world, and he had lost all of them. His heart burned at the thought of Clary, sitting at the kitchen table with nothing in her hand but a pen and paper. He had asked her what she was writing, but she had never given him a reply. When he had gotten back from visiting the empty Institute, he found her note on the table, telling him that she didn't love him anymore and that things would be better if he let her go. Feeling a surge of pain rising up in his chest, Jace reached for another bottle and pressed it to his lips. The strong liquid sloshed down his throat, dulling the pain only enough to stop himself from crumpling into a ball on the floor. He stood up from the couch and slowly made his way to the stairs. He needed to lie down. Staggering from step to step, Jace blankly stared at the shattered pictures on the wall. There were several shots of himself and Clary, nestled up against each other, sharing affection that had never really existed. At least for her. It killed him inside to think that every time she had told him she loved him had been a lie. Every kiss between them had meant nothing to her yet so much to him. Reaching the top of the stairs, Jace rubbed his amber eyes groggily, deciding where to go next. He didn't really have anywhere to be now, did he? Another wave of sadness rushed over him, and he brought the pottle back to his mouth to take another drink. His head pounded in protest, but he ignored it. The pain was far less than the ache he felt in his heart. He had never felt so alone. He made his sloppy way into the bedroom and pulled open the drawer of his nightstand.

_He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger_

_And finally drank away her memory_

_Life is short, but this time it was bigger_

_Than the strength he had to get up off his knees _

He reached into the compartment and pulled out the small handgun. He figured whatever pain it caused him couldn't possibly be worse than what he felt right then. He set it down on the bed and retrieved a pen and paper. Scrawling letters in sloppy disoriented handwriting, Jace poured his heart out through the pen. Everything he felt was written on that tear stained page, letting everyone know what his last thoughts were. He set down the pen and pushed aside the note, letting it rest against the half empty bottle of alcohol. He then trudged over to the bed and pressed the gun to his temple. A last lonely tear spilled down his cheek before he pulled the trigger.

_We found him with his face down in the pillow_

_With a note that said, 'I'll love her till I die.'_

_And when we buried him beneath the willow_

_The angels sang a whiskey lullaby _

Alec rushed into the room behind his boyfriend, their hands still twined tightly together. Isabelle stood sobbing in the corner of the room along with Maryse. They were wrapped around each other in a clump of running mascara and tears. The only other people in the room were Alec's father Robert and a man he had never seen before, probably a member of the Clave. Ale was surprised that Clary wasn't here, but then again, they had broken up. Maybe it was better that she kept her distance for now. Alec continued on and pushed past both of the men to look down on the bed. Jace lay there, lifeless and pale. His golden curls were stained with crimson blood that ran down the side of the white mattress onto the hardwood floor. Alec was grateful that Jace's face was buried in the pillow; he didn't think he could take it to see his empty eyes staring up at him. Something deep inside of him snapped, and Alec turned to hide himself in Magnus's shoulder. The warlock calmly rested his hand on Alec's back and stroked him while he sobbed. Jace had been Alec's parabatai since they were fourteen. They were best friends, partners in war. Now Jace was gone, and Alec felt as if a part of him had been ripped away and shattered, like the cables that held him to the earth had been torn apart, and now he was drifting off into space only to be held down by the threads that were Magnus and Isabelle. A second hand touched his back, and Alec spun around to see the Clave member holding a sheet of wet paper.

"Would you like to read his note?"

Alec nodded hesitantly. Maybe he would feel less pain if he understood why Jace had killed himself. The words stung as they passed through his thoughts. Jace had ended his own life for something. The blue eyed boy snatched up the letter and retreated to the chair in the corner. Magnus stayed in place sensing that Alec wanted to read alone. Settling into the cushions, Alec began to decode Jace's messy writing.

**I'm already dead inside. There's no point in going on now. I've lost everything. Whoever's reading this, try not to miss me. I did this for myself, and you should probably hate me. I don't blame you if you do. It just hurt so much. It was all a lie. No matter what she says about me, know that I never stopped thinking about her. She wanted me to get over her, but I'll love her 'till I die. This is the only way. Forget me, for your own sake.**

**-Jace**

Five days later, Alec stood under the willow tree as Jace's coffin was lowered into the grave. Everyone was in tears, everyone except Clary. She just stood there, her expression as blank as it had been since she found out. It was as if she was incapable of processing what had happened. Maybe she was too broken to feel, or maybe she just didn't care. No matter what the reason, she didn't follow when the others left. She just sat under the tree with her hand on her heart, singing to the boy that would never hear her.

**(A/N): Ok so there you go! Did you cry too? Review and let me know if you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N): Hey guys! I know it's been a really long time, but I've been super busy and this is the first time I can post an update! Thanks for all of the awesome reviews; you guys have been really supportive :) Lastly, this part isn't as good as the first, and I deeply apologize if it sucks. I wrote it at night. Really late. I was tired. Anyways, enjoy! **

_The rumors flew _

_But nobody knew how much she blamed herself_

_For years and years _

_She tried to hide the whiskey on her breath _

_She finally drank her pain away, _

_A little at a time_

_But she never could get drunk enough _

_To get him off her mind_

_Until the night_

It was the sixth time that week that Clary had been at the bar. Isabelle had insisted that she find someone else to go out with, with the reasoning that it might help her recover from the drama of the past month. So far, it hadn't helped much. She still laid awake at night, smothering her face in her pillows and blankets to try and hide the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Her face was stained red even now, but she had cleverly hidden it behind layers of cakey rouge and foundation. Across the bar, Clary heard three girls whispering amongst themselves quietly. Judging by the way they were looking at her, it wasn't hard to determine the topic they were discussing. She had heard the rumors several times before, and with different variations each time; in one story, she had murdered him because he cheated on her and framed it as a suicide; in another she had had someone hunt him down and shoot him so that she could claim the life insurance for some lovechild that wasn't his. No one would believe that the strong and mighty Jace Lightwood had taken his own life. Only those closest to him knew that he had died not from a vengeful hand but from a broken heart. It had been her fault after all. She ran a small hand through her hair as a man in a black flannel shirt and jeans sat down in the seat beside her. He ordered two rounds of whiskey on him, nudging a glass over to her when the bartender set them down. Without hesitation she took it and chugged it down; sometimes the sting of the alcohol dulled the pain and guilt that stabbed at her heart. The man looked surprised, but this was usually how it went. She would drink heavily until her senses blurred, and the next morning she would wake up in a strange place with no memory of the night before. The only memory that constantly resurfaced was that of the man she still loved being lowered into the soft ground under the tree. Pulling herself out of the depths of her head, she took another shot of whiskey from the tray and let it splash down her throat. The burn was comforting and familiar. She recognized it as a signal that none of her worries mattered anymore, and that she could focus on living for the moment. She leaned in closer as the man asked her name. She responded "Kylie", because tonight she wanted to be anyone but herself. Several hours later she lay on a foreign bed, staring up at the ceiling. She thought of him, and what he would say if he saw her now. Would he laugh, and call her pathetic? Would he be hurt at her betrayal? Or would he brush it off because he knew she didn't care, even though she did, more than he ever knew. Suddenly feeling sick, Clary rushed to the bathroom and retched over the toilet. Nothing came up, though, there was nothing inside. That was the way she felt, too, like she was a hollow shell of herself now that he was gone. Again, he appeared in her every thought. She would never really forget.

_She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger_

_And finally drank away his memory_

_Life is short, but this time it was bigger_

_Than the strength she had to get up off her knees _

Slowly, she picked herself off the floor and stumbled over to her purse. She dug through it, pulling out a crumpled and tear-stained photograph that lay between her car keys and her wallet. Shoving it into her pocket, she went to the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. There were several jars of pills lined up in a row, none of which she had ever had much experience with. She settled for a jar of blue pills marked "Prescription" and shoved six down her scratchy throat. She gagged only slightly and flopped down on the bed. The pain was already beginning to fade when she closed her eyes, the thrumming of her own heart the only noise in the room she could make out. The last thing she saw before succumbing to the darkness was his face, smiling down at her to reveal the chip in his tooth that she loved so much. For the first time in a long time, Clarissa Fray smiled.

_We found her with her face down in the pillow_

_Clinging to his picture for dear life_

_We laid her next to him beneath the willow_

_And the angels sang a whiskey lullaby _

Isabelle Lightwood could not believe it. When they first told her, she _hadn't _believed it. It couldn't be possible that she would lose both her brother and her best friend in the same month, could it? Apparently it could, because Clary was dead. The man she had slept with the night before had been horrified to see that she lay cold on his bed the next morning. He had panicked and fled the house, only to come to his senses and call the police three hours later. Now Isabelle was driving to the cemetery for the second time in the same month to witness yet another Shadowhunter funeral. She reviewed the events of the day in her head, still struggling to fully comprehend exactly what had happened.

When the police had come into the apartment, they had found Clary on the bed, clutching Jace's picture in her left hand. It was a photograph of the two of them sitting together in the institute, far before any of this senseless drama between them had begun. Their faces were both blissful and happy. Isabelle knew that Clary hadn't felt that way in a long time. After they had found the body, Jocelyn had arranged for an immediate burial. She had hurriedly driven down to the field where Jace was buried, instinctively knowing that this was where Clary would have wanted to go. The others were already gathered there, none crying either from shock, confusion, or both. As Clary's casket sank down, Isabelle swore she would never fall in love, ever.

Later that night as Isabelle turned the key to her apartment she felt the first of what was probably thousands of tears to come trickling down her cheeks. She sank down to the concrete steps with a jolt that would probably leave a mark in the morning. She had no idea how long she sat there, but after a really long time, she felt arms around her torso. They were strong and soothing, but not warm like those of her brother's or her mothers. These arms were cool and hard, like granite in the fall. She cringed as she felt herself sight contently. This was not going to help with her pledge to stay single. If anything, this was making it near impossible. Giving in, the dark haired girl sunk back into Simon's arms. He picked her up and carried her through the door, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Finally setting her down on the bed, he turned to leave when her voice caught him off guard.

"Simon, will you sing to me?" Recovering from his surprise, Simon nodded and knelt beside her bed just so that his cool breath blew in her ear. In a voice so melodic Isabelle swore it was an angel, Simon sang her a lullaby soft and sweet, like a breeze or a river current. Isabelle cried again. Not because she was sad, or because she was angry, but because finally, after far too much pain and sorrow, she was happy and at peace. Simon continued to sing to her until she was asleep, and even after that. When she woke up the next morning, he was still there, humming the low melody in her ear, her own angel lullaby.


End file.
